Nature's great masterpiece : an elephant ; the only harmless great thing.

There she was. Entering the water, about to swim back to the mainlands during hightide, like a mad woman. But she was there and she was alive. He sees her ears pin as she faces away from him, and the weight in his chests shifts to his barrel. He sees her debate, nearly walking further into the water and away from him. The great organ in his chest stutters, hesitates—

And leaps back into a pounding, punishing beat as she turns towards him— chooses to listen to him. He sucks a sharp breath through his teeth as he sees her delicate face so brightly bruised, and he cannot hide the grimace that accompanies the breath as his broken rib grates against bone.

She does not approach him at first, and the distance between them is painfully tangible, consuming the relief that had just swamped him. He studies her, stock-still, waiting. He re-memorizes the angry look on her face, the chains adorning her brow that he had given her, her cerulean eyes rimmed in lashes and liner. And, most importantly, he sees the spreading bruise across her beautiful face. A bruise he might as well given her, himself.

And then he sees the effect his own injuries have on her, concern replacing the heartrending hardness as she rushes to him. Her nose against his neck is velvet pleasure, drawing a low hum from his broken chest— but it is cut short as she draw away from him. Stealing the painfully brief pleasure and relief from these fatal battles.

His eyes, which had closed as he leaned into her touch, snap open to meet her hurt eyes and accusing question. He knew the reason for the question, for the look. He had felt the battle pause for a moment when their eyes had met while he protected Nyx.

But, after seeing so much death today, he did not want a repeat of the Meadow. He wanted Rexanna, comfort, and life-affirming love. Gaze wide, wary, and wanting, he took the step towards her that she had taken away from him. “Rexanna—“ his voice was hoarse from smoke, emotion, need.

His movements were cautious, for he did not want her to leave him as her first inclination had been. “Why what?” He almost cringed at how moronic his deep, gruff voice sounded as he asked the question. But he was floundering, and needed more direction to answer her.

His gargantuan mass strained, leaned, towards her. Though he refrained from touching her as he warily waited an answer to his question, blood sluggishly dripping down his vast shoulder.